The Ven. Margaret Grayden

January 14, 2024

If you are feeling a little whiplashed by the liturgical calendar this year, you are not alone.  It seems like just yesterday it was the Fourth Sunday of Advent, and then a few hours later, it was Christmas Eve, and then a few hours after that, it was Christmas Day.  The Twelve Days of Christmas sped by.  We had one more Sunday to sing Christmas carols on what was also New Year’s Eve, and then by the following Sunday (can you believe that was only a week ago?), the Wise Men had come and gone, and it was the First Sunday after the Epiphany.  Our focus shifted from the birth of Jesus to the start of His ministry as an adult, which began with his baptism in the Jordan River.  You might call the Baptism of Our Lord the story of how God called Jesus, and how Jesus experienced that call.  This Sunday, the Second Sunday after the Epiphany, our focus shifts to how God calls us, and how challenging it can be to distinguish God’s voice from the many other voices that compete for our attention.

The word “epiphany” is derived from the Greek word epiphaneia, typically translated in English as “manifestation” or “showing.”  So, it makes sense to use it in a sacred context to describe the first manifestation of Jesus to the Gentiles, which we commemorate on the Feast of the Epiphany.  It also makes sense to use it to describe the liturgical season that highlights the ways in which God is manifested in the life of Jesus.  But of course, the word epiphany is also used in the secular world as shorthand for a sudden, intuitive insight or understanding.  Epiphanies in this sense mean “aha” or “Eureka!” moments when things that have been blurred suddenly come into focus.  While epiphanies can be large in impact, they are usually the culmination of a series of smaller understandings.  It’s as if the key piece of an intricate puzzle has fit into place, thereby revealing the way in which the remaining pieces fit so that the whole puzzle makes sense.

We get a great example of an epiphany in today’s reading from First Samuel.  What a comedy of errors!  Two times, Samuel is awakened in the night by a voice calling, “Samuel, Samuel.”  Two times, Samuel thinks that Eli, the priest under whom he serves in the temple, is calling him, so he goes to Eli and says, “Here I am.”  Two times, Eli tells Samuel to go back to sleep, that Eli did not call him.  Of course, we know that God was the one who was calling Samuel all along, but neither Samuel nor Eli realized that—at least, not at first.  It wasn’t until the third time that Eli realized it was God who was calling Samuel.  With that epiphany, everything fell into place for Eli.  In turn, once Eli understood what was happening, he knew from his own experience as a priest and prophet exactly what Samuel needed to do next, and he instructed Samuel accordingly.  Samuel needed Eli, his wise and experienced mentor, to help Samuel first recognize God’s voice and then make himself available to hear God’s call.

There’s a lesson in that for us.  The poetic language of the portion of Psalm 139 we recited earlier reminds us that God has searched us out and known us, in all of our beauty and imperfection.  Nothing is hidden from God’s loving view.  This theme is echoed in our Gospel reading from John, in which Jesus knows Nathanael’s character simply from seeing him beneath the fig tree.  Yet all too often, we struggle to know God as God knows us, to distinguish God’s voice from the many other voices that compete for our attention.  This is the holy work of discernment, and it is best done in community. 

I had an epiphany of my own this week that helped me see something in a new way.  It happened right here in this sanctuary.  I was meeting with a small group of liturgical leaders trying to figure out how to set up for worship, since the altar area was now surrounded by the scaffolding required for our stained-glass ceiling repair work.  As I looked up at the scaffolding, someone—I think it was Ernie—commented that it was as if the scaffolding had been arranged to frame the cross.  Surprised, I took a closer look, really looked—and suddenly it was as if a new light illuminated the scene.  I literally saw the scaffolding and the cross in a new way.  I had feared the scaffolding would end up obscuring the cross, but instead, it made the cross stand out.  That was so reassuring to me.

I don’t think I would have come to that realization on my own.  I needed someone with a different perspective to help me see.  This experience brought home to me how important it is to be flexible, to keep an open mind, and to be willing to see and hear differently.  It is so easy to get locked into particular ways of perceiving, especially in the echo chambers of social media.  Today’s excerpt from First Corinthians, in which Paul points out to the people of Corinth what they can’t see about their own behavior, reminds us that this tendency is not new.  Fortunately, God gives us the gift of each other to share our bits of light as we help build the Beloved Community so powerfully articulated by the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., whose life and work we honor tomorrow.

In this new liturgical season and new year, how can we cultivate an attitude of receptivity to epiphanies, to new understandings that can deepen our faith?  Consider participating in the Fearless Faith Revival, which will be happening in our diocese on April 26-27.  An amazing group of speakers from across the Episcopal Church, including Presiding Bishop Michael Curry, will be joining us to learn, pray, and worship.  Don’t let that word “revival” scare you.  It’s just an opportunity to make yourself available to see or hear something new about God.  As Philip said to Nathanael, “Come and see.”

    AMEN